


anamnesis

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Communication Is For The Weak, Getting Together, M/M, also the happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 01:05:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: You know the saying "pics or it didn't happen"? That might not be such a good idea. (It might be the best idea.)





	anamnesis

**Author's Note:**

> anamnesis: the platonic idea that humans have knowledge that's present in their souls before they're born and that "learning" these things is a matter of remembering them rather than acquiring the knowledge
> 
> ~~i had a long joke about plato and diogenes originally, but i accidentally refreshed the page, so the cliffnotes are: plato doesn't have a monopoly on the use of the term anamnesis, but no one can stop me, so that's the only definition i'm using~~
> 
> huuuuge s/o to jessicamiriamdrew for taking one for the team (me) and reading this in its raw, unfinished form. my rough drafts are **rough**

There are four photos in the envelope when John finds it. He wasn’t looking for them- this room mostly has things he and Chas have collected and never bothered to get rid of, and if any of it were magical or useful, they’d keep it with the other magical or useful things- but he’s looking for something that isn’t in any of the places it should have been

Which is why he’s here, upending a well-hidden envelope that definitely doesn’t have what he’s after but does, now that John has seen the contents, have something that hits him harder than most jealous boyfriends.

The photos have spilled onto the floor, and it takes John a moment to will himself to touch them.

He could have gone a lifetime without seeing the photos again.

Now that he has, though, John can’t help but make the seeing worth it.

Chas is easy to pick out because there’s so much of him- even back then, he stood head and shoulders above John. And he wore his hair long. John can see it clearly in two of the photos- one where it was still in its tidy braid and lying against his back, centimeters from where John’s fingers were digging into Chas’ shoulder blade, and one where some of it had come loose and fallen forward, screening their faces from the camera as Chas kissed him.

Another photo is mostly John’s face, his mouth open as he kissed Chas’ belly.

The last photo is John again. He was the one holding the camera, and he really wanted to drive home how good life was for him, so he held it as far from him as he could, capturing as much of him and Chas’ back as he sat in Chas’ lap. Chas even added a nice touch by kissing John’s neck.

People have hinted at them being a couple countless times over the years, but the sad truth is, Chas only ever indulged John for one night. John’s been panting after a second ever since, but that’s all he’s ever gotten. A one-off on a night they've known better than to discuss.

They took more than four photos- they bought a disposable camera and used up the entire roll of film.

It’s for the best that these are all that remain, though. John doesn’t need any more reminders of that night, and God knows what Chas would do if he found them. John doesn’t even remember stashing them in here or why he thought it would be a good idea.

Shaking his head, John shoves the photos back into the envelope, which he slips into his coat pocket. He came here in search of a certain shirt Chas needs to wear so he can get into a certain pub and ask certain men certain questions so John can figure out what the latest demon to plague Alabama is up to. John doesn’t have time to get lost in memories he shouldn’t have made in the first place.

 

xx

 

Zed waits until Chas has gotten out of the truck and ducked into the pub to turn in her seat and frown at John.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“The funny thing about that saying is that ghosts aren’t scary,” John replies, not looking up from his newest phone. Chas shoved it at him earlier, and right now, there are only two contacts in it- Chas and Zed- and no interesting apps. Turning the phone over in the weak light, John frowns. Did Chas get him a child’s phone? “They’re not even that ugly most of the time, you know. Just depressing.”

“Wow. You must be really upset if that’s the best deflection you can come up with.”

“I’m not upset. I’m thinking.”

“About upsetting things?”

Putting the screen to sleep, John gives in and looks up.

She’s a real looker, is Zed. Quick as a whip, too. And resourceful. Determined. Kind.

In short, she’s the last person John wants anywhere near his psyche.

Even if he did want her there, what would he say? _“Oh, Chas is just wearing clothes that are eerily similar to the ones he wore when we slept together. It was ages ago, but I’d quite like to do it again, you see. This time, preferably not because Chas is helping me get saucy photos to piss off an ex whose name I don’t even remember. None of which is feasible, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting it.”_

Finding those photos was the worst possible thing that could have happened. John hasn’t been able to get his mind off them. Enough time had finally passed for him not to think about sleeping with Chas so much, but now…

Now John can’t help but remember how Chas looked at him.

On anyone else, it would have been a sure sign that John had them wrapped around his finger. But Chas wasn’t tripping over himself to do what John wanted. He was just being indulgent.

He was being a good mate, the same loyal Chas who stabbed himself in the thigh with a screwdriver to get them into hospital.

The same Chas who kissed John’s neck and laughed when the tickle of his beard made John protest.

The same Chas who’s lived with John for ages and never shown him anything more than fondness.

Possibly a questionable amount of loyalty, but there’s a lot between them.

They’ve kept their clothes on for most of it.

Sleeping with your mates is a bad business. John knew that well before he and Chas got together, and he’s paid for dipping into the well anyway. He’ll never get Anne Marie back. Their friendship won’t recover, let alone the love John had felt kicking at his chest from the inside.

Across the street, a door opens, but the man who comes out of the pub is too small to be Chas.

Zed hasn’t looked away, and John sighs.

“I’ve got a lot to think about, Zed. The Rising Darkness isn’t nothing.”

She nods. “Chas said you aren’t sleeping much anymore.”

“Chas should save the mother hen act for someone who needs it.”

“Maybe he is.”

Eyes narrowing, John gives Zed a sharp look. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” Zed says evenly. “So does he.”

“Then what’s the point of this?”

“Maybe you aren’t as alone as you say. Maybe,” she adds, leaning toward him, “you’re making things harder than they have to be.”

John opens his mouth to argue, only for the pub door to swing open again. This time, the man who comes out is Chas. His hair is mussed, his shirt is unbuttoned and hanging open, and the soft white shirt he put on beneath it is rucked up on one side.

He trots over to the car without so much as a hitch in his step, and when he slides into his seat behind the wheel, he smells like he’s been in a pub.

”It only took five shots to get West to start talking,” he says cheerfully, as if he isn’t pathologically sober. “The symbol is in a safety deposit box one city over.”

John knows Chas is telling the truth, but his throat doesn’t loosen until he has the symbol in his pocket and Chas’ shirt is buttoned back up.

 

xx

 

They’ve been on the road and fighting non-stop for nearly two months. John hasn’t seen his bed in so long, he isn’t sure he’ll recognize it when they get back.

He hasn’t seen many beds, come to think of it. A couple jail cells with bed-shaped things in them, two couches, one rolled up carpet, that same carpet but spread out, a couple caves...

And, of course, the cab.

There are knots in John’s back that won’t ever come out.

Demons are a pushy lot- comes with living in hell, John figures- and John’s made it a priority not to let them walk the earth doing as they please.

Manny made it a priority for him, really, but the demons taking swings at John never seem to care about the angel sending him after them.

He’s finally got some quiet time now, though. Zed and Chas have their own motel rooms, and Chas indulged in a place with 24/7 heated water.

The shower stall isn’t especially big, but John doesn’t need it to be. He’s the only one in it, and all he needs is enough room to brace himself as he runs a soaped-up hand over his body.

Memories of Chas have been plaguing him ever since John dug up those photos.

The weight of Chas’ attention as he got John off the first time, his mouth pressed to John’s neck in messy kiss after kiss, sends a shiver through John. He felt Chas’ voice more than he heard it as Chas breathed encouragement against John’s skin. He told John how good he looked, asked him if John felt good, and when John could only nod, Chas tightened his grip and worked John just right to make him come faster than he meant to.

Chas follows John. That's how their relationship works. But John can’t shake the echoes of Chas’ voice telling him to come.

He doesn’t really want to.

Biting his cheek- hot water aside, he’s in a cheap motel, and Chas is only one thin wall away- John closes his fist around himself and lets his mind follow the path he’s been avoiding.

Chas wasn’t supposed to be good at blowjobs. He wasn’t supposed to kiss John’s thighs and hips and belly while he waited for John to be able to get it up again. He wasn’t supposed to kiss the tip of John’s dick, and he wasn’t supposed to know John likes a little bit of hurt with his pleasure.

He wasn’t supposed to go slow and careful when he fingered John. He wasn’t supposed to tell John how hot he was- how good John was at getting fucked.

He wasn’t supposed to lay John out on his back and fuck him so gently at first that John hadn’t known what to do other than hold on.

He wasn’t supposed to make John come a second time.

And he wasn’t supposed to say John’s name when he came.

Typical of Chas to throw a wrench into the works.

John leans his head on the arm braced against the wall and takes a deep, shaky breath. He’s already so close he can barely stay upright.

He remembers the weight of Chas’ hands on his hips when John pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him. The brush of his breath as John bent over and kissed the corner of his mouth. The way Chas looked up at him like he thought he was supposed to be the one memorizing this.

It was easy to pretend the pictures were for them. With Chas taking up his attention, John didn’t have to think about his ex or the future. There was Chas, and there was him.

And that was it.

That was everything.

Everything except the invisible clock above their heads, counting down the seconds until it was time for John to get up, put the clothes Chas had carefully helped him out of back on, and return to the world.

When he comes, John slumps forward like he did that night, but this time, there’s no Chas to stroke his hip and kiss him through it.

You’d think John would be used to loneliness by now, but the longer he spends in the dark, the more it grows, pushing him deeper into isolation he didn’t ask for.

Perhaps it’s a punishment for trying to steal Chas for himself when he knew Chas wasn’t meant for him.

Icarus is probably just as alone in the darkness at the bottom of the sea as John is in this motel room. Two fools who’d been given clear instructions but tried to go their own way anyway.

 _At least Icarus fell alone,_ says Manny’s voice as John straightens up. _How many people have you dragged down with you?_

John doesn’t bother answering. He gets enough lip from the real Manny. He doesn’t need an argument with an imaginary version of the prick on top of it.

The motel bed isn’t great, but the pillowcase smells clean enough when John’s collapses on it, still wet from the shower but too tired to find clean clothes. He won’t grow mold from one night’s damp sleep, no matter what Chas might try to say.

 

xx

 

“Is that _mold_?”

John stops in his tracks, one hand reaching instinctively toward to his body, before he realizes Zed isn’t even looking at him.

She’s standing by one of the bowls at the motel’s breakfast buffet. She’s got tongs in one hand, the other propped on her hip.

The tongs, John realizes, are holding a croissant.

Two steps to the left of Zed, Chas reaches over, plucks the croissant out of the tongs, and, after a moment of squinting, takes a bite.

John, who has seen Chas do this before, merely heads toward the coffee machine.

Zed, who doesn’t know about this habit, makes a noise of surprise. “What are you doing!”

“Not mold,” Chas explains calmly, holding the croissant out. “It was probably next to a fancy cupcake or something like that earlier. “

“Why would you _eat_ it?”

“It wouldn’t kill me,” Chas says. John can hear the confusion creeping in.

Zed has no idea what she’s wandered into.

“That isn’t the point!” she hisses.

“Then what is?”

Zed groans. “John, help me?”

John looks skeptically at the Keurig. He just wants coffee. Who thought it was a good idea to complicate things so much?

“John!”

“Chas knows his molds,” John tells Zed without looking away from the coffeemaker. “And he’s a very good judge of what’ll kill him.”

“It took a while to learn how to cook,” Chas says defensively, preempting Zed’s next objection. “And we thought it would be good to know if I can still get food poisoning.”

Resigning himself to a coffee-less ride back to the mill house, John abandons the Keurig and joins Chas and Zed.

“He can, by the way,” he tells her. “It doesn’t last as long, though.”

Chas nods, his expression turning wry.

Remembering the time he drank all that raw milk, no doubt. It wasn’t a disaster, but it came bloody close.

Zed sighs and turns away. Still skeptical, she eyes up the contents of the bowl of breakfast pastries before her.

Chas takes a sip from a styrofoam cup.

It’s clearly got coffee in it. John can smell it.

“Mate,” he starts, prepared to steal it and deal with Chas’ vengeance if it will get him some caffeine. Before he can, Chas produces a second, larger cup from the counter.

“They don’t have any of the fancy flavored stuff,” Chas says, holding the cup just close enough to his chest not to be offering it.

“Chas-”

“Three milks, one sugar should do it, though,” he finishes. “Don’t spill it.”

With that, he extends the cup, and John’s cold fingers close around his gift. The coffee is still hot but not scalding, and John takes a grateful sip.

Chas remembered John’s coffee preferences perfectly.

It doesn’t mean anything in particular; Chas just does that. He knows how many chillies Zed likes to see beside a dish on a menu and still doesn’t order food with a lot of garlic because Renee doesn’t like the smell.

The last creature is still fresh in John’s mind, though. A nasty little bastard, it fed on the sorrow of forgotten people. Truly forgotten or not, they all looked at John with the same empty stare, some vital part of their souls drained from them, impossible to retrieve.

John walks alone, but he doesn’t walk unseen. Chas is the safeguard against that.

Zed, too, but Zed has her own future. She isn’t caught up in John the way Chas is.

Closing his eyes, John takes a long pull on his coffee and lets himself stop thinking for a bit.

When he opens his eyes, Chas is looking at him. His forehead is all wrinkled up the way it gets when he’s frustrated. John resists the urge to tell Chas he should be careful doing that at their age. Instead, he watches Chas right back.

One of them will give in, and it won’t be John.

There’s very little mystery to Chas. John has always liked that about him. His simplicity of purpose, his uninterest in duplicity, his unwavering desire to live a decent and quiet life… He isn’t stupid- he’s no genius either, but he isn’t stupid. He’s just direct.

The world of magic is anything but direct. Maybe that’s why Chas dislikes it so much.

It’s almost a wonder he’s lasted as long as he has. Outlasted people who actually liked the occult, too- outlasted everyone else John has known.

“What if it had been a deadly mold?” Zed asks, reappearing with a plate of pastries. “Did you think about that?”

John doesn’t startle, but Chas does.

Zed glances between them, obviously realizes she interrupted, then presses on because the moment is over but her questions aren’t. “Why hurt yourself when you don’t have to?”

John expects Chas to pass the question over. Instead, Chas tilts his head, considering. “I would have come back,” he says after a moment.

It isn't what Zed wants to hear, and they all know it.

John sips his coffee as Zed walks out, leaving John and Chas alone in the buffet.

Chas sighs and reaches into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’ll handle checkout if you find us a Dunkin somewhere close to the halfway point between here and home,” he says as he pulls his phone out.

John’s phone is in pieces somewhere near the Indiana border.

“Even though you always handle checking out?” John asks. He accepts the phone anyway; he can already tell it’s going to be a long ride home, and having a phone will make the time go by faster. Chas doesn’t like John reaching into his pockets when he’s driving, so if John just holds onto it, he won’t have to go searching and risk his hands getting slapped.

“Just look for a Dunkin, all right?” Chas prompts.

“Whatever you want, mate.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Chas grumbles, but he disappears before John can decide whether to ask him what he means.

Shrugging, John enters Chas’ PIN and pulls up Google Maps.

 

xx

 

The nice thing about spending so much time with Chas- and now Zed- is that John’s internal clock knows how long it takes them to do things. So when he gets a feeling in his gut that it’s time to head to the car, John doesn’t question it.

He doesn’t look up from Chas’ phone either. If he had, he might have been tempted to call out to Chas and Zed. The cab isn’t packed yet, and they’re just standing by the boot, arguing with each other.

Because he doesn’t say anything, they keep talking.

“I saw the photo, Chas,” Zed says. “Don’t try to tell me it’s nothing when it’s clearly _something_.”

“Maybe you should remember that what you saw was from a different time. That’s the point of photos,” Chas replies stiffly.

“You and I both know that’s not what’s going on.”

“Excuse me if I don’t trust your judgment of something you never saw.”

Zed pokes him in the chest. “Something I never saw? I see it all the time! Every day! That picture wasn’t a fluke. If you would just get your head out of your-”

Chas’ phone chirps, and all three of them jump.

“Renee,” John says, holding out Chas’ phone but strategizing about how to get it back. “She wants to know if you’re coming up for dinner Friday.”

Chas takes his phone without looking. “How long were you there?”

“No idea. Can we leave yet?”

Chas and Zed exchange glances, then look back at John.

“I just have to put the last couple bags away,” Chas says slowly. “You can get in if you want.”

John looks between Chas and Zed for a long moment, certain he witnessed something important but too tired and not yet caffeinated enough to try to piece it together, before shrugging.

“Don’t let me stop you from packing,” he says. “I’ll be in the back, drinking my coffee.”

Chas’ expression slips into relief. Zed’s turns sour.

When John has the energy to examine it, that conversation is going to be interesting.

 

xx

 

They’ve been on the road for a few hours, and John is dozing comfortably when Chas’ voice breaks through the silence.

“Where’s the Dunkin?”

John jolts into full awareness.

“I know you’re awake,” Chas continues. “And if you’re not, I don’t mind waking you up.”

_That’s ominous._

John clears his throat. “I’m awake.”

“And the Dunkin?”

“It’s… around.”

“John,” Zed interrupts. Her voice is grave, and the look on her face tells John she isn’t going to be charmed by him. “Dunkin.”

“Funny story about that...”

Chas groans.

Chas’ phone remains in John’s pocket.

“You make terrible decisions,” Zed tells Chas.

Chas shrugs, but John watches the corner of his mouth turn down in the rearview mirror.

 

xx

 

John is in the kitchen, waiting impatiently for the skillet to heat up and wishing he’d brought something to do, when Zed appears.

“Making dinner?” she asks.

Her innocence is an act. She knows full well what John is out here doing and why he’s the one doing it.

“I will be,” he says. “Just gotta let the pan heat up.”

Zed sighs. “You’re a real glutton for punishment, you know that?”

“How’s that?”

“I’m sure Chas would make you something if you just talked to him.”

“Or I could cook me own dinner.”

“Why are you so opposed to telling him you’re sorry?”

“I’d be lying, for one.” John holds his hand over the pan for a moment, testing the heat, before he nods to himself and grabs the eggs he took out earlier. “For another, Chas doesn’t want an apology. He wants to be angry with me.”

He cracks the first egg on the edge of the counter, then opens it over the pan. It sizzles when it hits.

He does the same with the second egg. The empty shells go into the compost box- Chas’ idea, he’s thinking about starting a little garden for them. The salt and pepper shakers are already on the counter, so John just has to give them a few quick shakes before he sets them aside.

Zed says nothing through it all.

She keeps that silence until John’s flipped his eggs, let them finish cooking, scooped them onto his plate, grabbed some cutlery and a drink, and sat down at the table.

“What makes you so sure that’s what he wants?” she asks as she slides into a chair.

Fork poised to skewer a bit of one egg, John sighs. “What is it about you two that makes you want to stop me from eating me own sodding eggs? I made them, you know. And they’re no good cold.”

Zed gives him a long, even look.

“I told you before,” John reminds her. “I know Chas better than I know myself. I don’t just say things for my own benefit.”

Quirking a brow, Zed makes a seesawing motion with one hand. “I don’t think you’re wrong about knowing Chas well,” she says, cutting off a protest from John. “But I think you don’t know yourself as well as you pretend. There’s room for you to misunderstand Chas. Talk to him. He might surprise you.”

John snorts. “Thank you for your patronizing words, but Chas isn’t some poor, misunderstood soul. We’re fine as we are.”

Eyes flicking upward, Zed mutters something in Spanish. It doesn’t sound helpful. “You deserve your unhappiness, John. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve got a good dinner, a nice roof over my head, and a town no longer plagued by a demon. How unhappy could I be?”

“The sad thing,” Zed tells him quietly, “is you actually believe that’s what happiness looks like.”

Message delivered, she gets up and leaves.

 _No wonder she and Manny get on_ , John thinks sourly.

The eggs are good, though, so the evening isn’t a total loss.

 

xx

 

Chas is wearing the shirt again. John can’t blame him; it looks good on him. It’s just tight enough to show off his shoulders without threatening to rip when he moves, and the buttons on the cuffs are made of something that catches the light, makes you follow the long lines of his hands with your eyes.

Makes you think about how small his glass looks in his hand. How easily he keeps it steady even though he’s dancing and there’s at least three people amicably warring to be the one he holds close.

John’s in a foul mood, and worse than that, he knows why.

They came to this club because they’re looking for an incubus, but John hasn’t found any trace of it.

Chas seems to have found his own sort of company, though, and even though he’s a terrible dancer, he can bob to the beat well enough that he’s attracted yet another man into his orbit.

Earlier, Chas ordered a Jack and Coke.

He’d made one for himself that night; he’s always liked a sweet drink. That’s how he met Renee- he accidentally drank her fruity martini, and he was friendly enough about it that she took over the stool next to him.

John, who’d got up for a wazz only to come back to find his best mate trying to get off with a bird in John’s spot, hadn’t recognized the symbolism in that.

He still doesn’t recognize it. Not when he doesn’t have to.

Throwing back the shot he’s been holding, John slides off his stool and heads out.

The biggest threat here is Chas getting eaten alive by four twinks.

 

xx

 

Tragically, John didn’t drink enough to be hungover in the morning, so when he wakes up and trudges into the kitchen, he’s fully aware of Chas slumped over at the table. There’s a mess on the table in front of him. It’s a small mess, though. No organs or detached limbs.

He’s also got enough control of his capacities that he shouldn’t just blurt, “Jesus, mate, you bled on the table.” He does blurt that, though.

Chas groans. “Go away.”

“What happened to your head?” John asks, coming over and peering at the hand towel Chas has pressed to his forehead.

“I found the incubus.”

John freezes. “Sorry?”

“The incubus,” Chas repeats. “I found him. I also killed him, by the way. You’re welcome.”

“Please tell me he was in South Carolina.”

“Atlanta.”

John pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mate… We live here.”

“It’s not like I was trying to get my soul stolen in any state, you know. And I couldn’t just knock it out and leave it to go after someone else.” Chas pauses and presses his forehead, which makes him wince. “I don’t know what that thing got me with, but it’s taking a long time to heal.”

He says it tiredly, and if he can’t summon the energy to get snappy and blame the situation on John, then he must be genuinely knackered.

“Well, forehead aside, you seem to have made it out in one piece,” John tells him. “You want some eggs?”

Chas groans a second time. “I don’t want to think about food right now.”

“That’s too bad because I’m in the mood for breakfast.”

Zed comes in right after John has finished cracking the eggs.

“Again?” she whines. “Can’t you make anything else?”

“Beans on toast,” John and Chas say together. Chas sounds less than enthusiastic.

“That isn’t- What happened to your head?”

She’s already walking toward Chas, eyes wide, as she asks. Chas lets her touch his face and tilt his head, but his grimace only deepens the more she manipulates his head.

“If you took your hand off your face-”

“Some of it would probably fall off, yeah.”

Zed pulls away, a look of disgust crossing her features. “Maybe… don’t move your hand.”

The eggs, which John has been absently tending, are ready, so he shifts them onto a plate and joins Chas and Zed at the table.

“You want me to get you something?” he asks Chas.

“Yeah, but it’ll make things take longer,” Chas says miserably. “You want to check it out?”

“Nah. Incubi are known for messing with other magic.”

Chas deflates further. “Great.”

John pats him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go to bed, eh? Zed’ll clean up.”

Zed frowns. “Excuse me?”

“You deserve a nap,” John continues, ignoring her. “Healing takes a lot out of you; you’ll feel better if you sleep through it. And you’ll be in a better mood when it’s time to make supper.”

Chas snorts, just as John had planned, and slowly gets to his feet.

“Go on,” John urges, flapping his hands at Chas. “Zed and I are perfectly capable adults. The house will still be here when you wake up.”

“It better be.”

John waves his hands again, and finally, Chas trudges out of the kitchen.

John looks back at Zed, who raises her eyebrows at him.

“What?” he asks.

“Is he really going to go to bed?”

“Of course.” Zed’s expression only grows more skeptical, and John sighs. “Chas doesn’t like hurting, Zed. He’s a very sensible bloke like that. If a nap will make him feel better, he’ll take a nap.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

She shakes her head but lets the subject drop.

John cuts into his eggs in relief.

 

xx

 

The trouble with Zed is, she inspires a level of responsibility in John that goes beyond what’s necessary. Chas is fine. He’s sleeping in his room, probably curled up because he got used to sleeping on mattresses that were too short for him. That’s what he does. That’s what he always does. And if Chas is one thing, it’s consistent.

Whether that’s a good thing or a bad one isn’t entirely clear, but it’s certainly a helpful trait in John’s book.

Normally he’d sit back and let Chas sleep.

Instead, thanks to Zed and her guilt-inducing doe eyes, John is in Chas’ room.

Where Chas is sleeping. Curled up on his side.

Just like John told Zed he would be.

The towel’s slipped down his face, though, and in a moment of impulsivity, John makes his way to the bed and carefully pulls the towel away. Chas’ forehead hasn’t fully healed yet, but the wound isn’t weeping anymore.

A better mate would have made Chas stay with his family, Chas’ guilt be damned. His utility, too. He didn’t set the fire. He didn’t cast the spell.

John’s never claimed to be a good mate, though, and Chas never would have believed him if he had.

Retreating, bloody towel in hand, John only notices the envelope by chance. The fact of an envelope in Chas’ room isn’t remarkable. Nor is the fact that it’s half stuck in the drawer of his bedside table.

Chas is tidier than John, but he’s hardly a neat freak.

What gets John’s attention is the stamp. It’s a British one, with the queen on it and all.

And the addresses are both in London.

Curious, John shoves the towel into his pocket then gently pulls the envelope out.

Something inside slides as John tilts it.

Perhaps, experienced in the world as he is, John should know better than to open the letter. Or at least to take a moment and brace himself.

Instead, he opens the envelope and pulls out the contents without a second’s hesitation.

The moment he sees the photo, John’s gut drops.

 

xx

 

What Zed doesn’t know- what she refuses to accept- is that John will gladly fight as dirty as he has to in order to get what he’s after.

Zed has her feet up on the back of the sofa, a layer of something green on her face, and a glass of wine in her hand. She’s wearing pink fluffy robe John recognizes as the one she wears when she’s in the mood to pamper herself.

It’s the kind of soft that screams expensive.

Zed watches John approach warily.

More accurately, she watches John and the uncapped bottle of grape juice in his hands warily.

“Something wrong?” she asks.

“I was just wondering,” John says, coming to a stop at the back. “Remember that trip we took a while back? The one where you thought you were going to be killed by a breakfast pastry?”

Zed nods.

“Before we left, you and Chas had an argument by the car. Something about a photo. What photo did you see that got Chas so uptight?”

Zed bites her lip, and John almost wishes she’d make this hard.

“He’s not a shy one, Chas,” he continues. “But he does have his boundaries. You must have found something _very_ compromising to make him prickle that much.”

Eyes narrowing, Zed tilts her chin up. “Why are you asking about it now?”

“I’m curious now.”

“Why don’t you ask Chas?”

“Sure. I’ll just ask the sun to stop shining while I’m at it, will I?”

Zed glances away.

Reaching into one pocket, John pulls out the photo and holds it out to Zed.

She turns away and closes her eyes without looking at it.

“Be gentle with him,” she says.

The hand John has clutched around the bottle twitches. “‘Be gentle with him’?” he echoes. “Why the bloody hell should I be gentle with him when he’s the one who's been- who’s been-”

Words failing him, John waves the photo at her.

Zed opens her eyes and looks toward him, but her eyes fix on a point above the photo, on John’s face.

Her expression softens.

“I meant it when I said you should talk to him.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?”

“What else is there?” Zed asks. “You found the photo. You know as much as I do- Chas didn’t suddenly become a chatterbox just because I was the one asking.”

John shifts his weight. He knows she’s telling the truth, but he doesn’t have to like it.

Zed reaches up and lays her hand on John’s, covering it and gently pushing it- and the photo- to the back of the couch. She must be getting better with her gift; he only feels a brief, unsettling mental jolt as the touch ignites her gift.

“He’s your best friend for a reason, John. He cares about you. Don’t hate him before you need to. For your own sake, if not for his.”

Pulling his hand free, John resists the urge to shrug her off. “You really have nothing to add?”

“Why would I lie?” Clearly picking up that John won’t leave until she says it outright, Zed sighs and says, “I really have nothing to add.”

“Guess I’ll be going then,” John says stiffly.

This was a waste of time.

“Before you go…”

John tenses.

“If you ever get grape juice on my robe, I will bury you and your jacket in Chas’ compost pile.”

 

xx

 

John has always figured it’s best just to rip the plaster off in one go, so when Zed doesn’t show up for dinner but a very squirrely-looking Chas does, John doesn’t muck about.

“Looking for something?” he asks, laying the photo on the table.

Chas looks from John’s face to John’s younger face and swallows.

“You were in my room.”

 _Not denying it?_ John thinks. _Interesting._ “Zed wanted me to make sure your brain hadn’t fallen out your forehead, and it was right there.”

“The envelope was there,” Chas corrects him. “You saw an envelope, and you opened it, and you took what was inside.”

“It had our address in London. I got curious.”

Chas’ fists clench, and for a moment, John thinks this will become a fight.

Instead, Chas tries to steal the photo off the table, but John is faster. He snatches it up and shoves it into his pocket where Chas won’t be able to reach it.

Chas’ jaw flexes. “Give it back.”

“No.”

“It’s mine.”

“It’s both of ours, I’d think.”

“It’s not like you want it,” Chas snaps. “Why do you care? It’s just an old photo.”

“I care because you care. If it’s just an old photo, why’d you keep it?”

Cornered, Chas does the only thing he knows how to do. “You know what? I don’t care. If you want it so badly, it’s yours.”

He tries to escape, but John isn’t done.

“I found the others, too.”

Chas freezes.

“Another envelope, this one a bit more discreet. But I was looking in the old room and I came across it.” Chas doesn’t move, so John continues, “The thing is, I don’t get why you’d keep them in two places. Or why you kept this one-” he pats his pocket, “-by your bed when I’d imagine the others are more gratifying.”

“I said you could have it,” Chas says. He sounds more tired than John has heard him sound in a long time. “So have it.”

“I’m not after the photo, Chas.”

“Then what _are_ you after?”

“An answer would be nice.”

“Did you ask a question?”

Sometimes when they’re in a tricky situation, Chas plays dumb to get John time. He does it so convincingly that even John wants to hit him.

This time, John just wants to know.

“I suppose I didn’t,” he concedes. “How about this, then- did I really spent the majority of my adult life wrongly thinking you didn’t care about our night together?”

“I don’t see why-”

“Because I want you to care about it, you knobhead!” John snaps, seeing the second plaster for what it is. “Because for some unknowable reason, I happen to like you, and I’d rather keep you around, and because the idea of you fucking your fist for nearly twenty years when you could have been fucking me is one I would like to take the sting out of by moving into your bedroom.”

Chas stares at him.

“Fucking prick,” John adds. “Of all the stupid bloody men on this stinking planet, why’d I have to want the one who also doesn’t fucking talk?”

He glares at Chas, too annoyed to feel the horror and regret waiting to crash into him.

Chas frowns, but it’s confusion mottling his expression.

“You want me?”

John really could murder him sometimes. “Yes, Chas. That’s what I said. Twenty years of suffering I’ve endured because of you.”

“So you wanted me that night?”

_“Yes.”_

“Then why’d you leave?”

“Well, it was a bed, Chas. I did have to leave eventually.”

Chas’ jaw twitches. “It was three AM, John. You could have stayed a little longer.”

“I needed a smoke.”

“A five-hour smoke?” Chas, who’s no longer a smoker but was a dedicated one at the time, gives John a hard look. “You wanted to leave, so you left.”

“Not because I didn’t want to be there,” John argues. “You think I wanted to fuck around on the Tube? I almost wound up in Manchester.”

“John-”

“I wasn’t ready,” John says over him. “I wanted you plenty, but I was in me twenties, Chas. How much of what I did then was smart, huh?” Running a hand through his hair, John takes a deep breath. “You can be mad at me about it all you like, but be mad because I cocked it up, not because I was a prat who didn’t give a shit. Because I wasn’t, all right?”

There are a lot of things John is grateful to Chas for.

Coming over and gently cupping his hands around John’s face, getting close and staying there, is one of them.

Dipping his head and mumbling, “This is gonna hurt,” but kissing John anyway is another.

The kiss is hard and raspy and too short for John’s liking.

“We have twenty years to make up for,” John says without opening his eyes. “I hope you’ve got more than that.”

“Don’t make me regret this already.”

Chas’ voice is warm, though, and he does pick John up and carry him to Chas’ bedroom.

So it’s a good start.

 

xx

 

In his memories of the first night they spent together, John always felt like he’d inflated how much Chas had kissed him.

He might have been wrong about that.

Chas doesn’t seem to be able to concentrate on much other than kissing John. It took him four tries to get John’s shirt off. Five for his trousers. Two for the right sock. Fortunately only one for his pants. Three for the left sock, though.

It would be annoying if it weren’t endearing.

And if John didn’t want every bloody one of them.

He’s going to have a rash from Chas’ beard tomorrow; he can already feel the heat settling in his face. The almost painful prickle as Chas tilts his head a little and his beard drags over John’s skin is sharp and clear.

As do the slow pumps of Chas’ hand.

It must be tricky, trying to jerk John off when they’re lying on their sides, but Chas doesn’t seem to mind.

There’s a quirk to his lips that John can feel as they kiss; it’s a smile, and it only grows each time John whines or tries to get Chas to move faster.

If his hands weren’t so busy holding Chas’ head in place, John might be tempted to do it all himself. Chas has been touching him slowly for what feels like hours. If John doesn’t come soon, he might die.

Chas is radiating smugness, all because he got John naked and desperate without having to work for it.

Two decades of pining did the heavy lifting there. Fucked if John is coherent enough to point that out, though.

Chas himself is down to his boxers- he was supposed to take them off, but John found his stash of surprisingly interesting bottles of lube, and that led to Chas abandoning his pants in favor of slicking up one large palm, the one he’s currently using to stroke John like he thinks they’ve got all the time in the world.

They do not, as the quivering heat in John’s belly can attest.

As if he read John’s mind- and learned a little mercy- Chas squeezes his fist a bit harder, just enough to make John’s breath catch when Chas strokes the tip.

“Chas,” John pants, head dropping as he pants against Chas’ chin.

Chas hums. Maybe he’s asking a question. Maybe he’s just pleased with himself.

He tilts his head for another kiss regardless, and John leans into it. He tightens his grip on Chas as he does, threading his fingers further through Chas’ thick hair and holding on tight.

The brush of Chas’ tongue against his makes the quivering in John’s belly burn harder.

Holding Chas is as much a way of keeping him in place as it is a way for John to stay close. His skin feels too tight, and Chas’ soft expression looks so much like the one from that night years ago that if he lets himself drift a little, John could almost swear this is just a memory he’s distorted to mirror the present.

Chas’ left hand, which hand been resting possessively on John’s hip, brushes over John’s skin and back, his touch so light it tickles, and John can’t help but wriggle away, even as he tries to push against Chas’ touch, to make it into what he wants.

Chas huffs a laugh, and if he weren’t doing such a lovely job of getting John close, then backing away, John would be tempted to complain. As it is, all John manages is a plaintive sound as he spreads his legs a little wider.

He feels Chas’ smile against his lips.

Right before Chas grabs a handful of his ass.

Caught off-guard- though he shouldn’t have been- John lets out a loud, pleased sound.

“You still like that, huh?” Chas breathes. He runs his thumb lightly over the sensitive skin near the back of John’s thigh, drawing a shiver from John. “Thought I’d never get to hear you do that again.”

John groans. “Could you whisper the sweet nothings after we’ve come?”

“Something wrong?”

“Don’t be a prick. We both know you could have made me come by now.”

Chas doesn’t deny it; he just bumps his nose against John’s.

Something in John shifts at the touch. The change hurts, like getting hit in the ribs, but it fades quickly. In place of the pain comes a hollowness.

Chas has been John’s for years.

Grip tightening reflexively, John tugs Chas even closer.

For once, Chas doesn’t scold him. He just brushes his lips over John’s chin in a barely-there kiss.

John’s breath stutters.

And that’s when he makes the mistake of letting his gaze drop. He only means to dodge the moment, but his eyes catch on the motion of Chas’ hand and freeze.

It’s bullshit to think anyone was made for anyone else. You find your own happiness and you make your own happiness, and the people around you either help or they don’t. But they aren’t responsible for you. They don’t belong to you, and you have to survive without them. If you can’t, that’s your own fault.

John knows all of that like he knows how to piss off the Sidh.

Yet the only thought he has as he watches Chas is how perfectly Chas’ hand fits him.

Chas clearly remembers John saying he likes a tighter grip. And the fingers of the hand on John’s arse are digging in hard enough that John will feel the bruises for days.

The rhythm Chas set is slow, and John is so caught up in watching Chas touch him that he doesn’t realize Chas has sped up until Chas asks, “Can you come for me, John?” and John, who’s been so close for so long and finally being touched the way he needs, can only yank Chas closer and come.

John holds Chas too close and too hard as he slowly catches his breath, but Chas doesn’t complain.

He does wipe his hand on the sheet where John can’t but see, though.

“That isn’t very sexy,” John mumbles, too comfortable to bother complaining.

Chas shrugs. “Gotta keep you wanting more, don’t I?”

It’s an easy opportunity for John to take the joke and make the moment more meaningful.

“Always knew you were a smart one.”

“Eat shit.”

“I was gonna blow you, but if that’s your preference-”

Chas groans, and John pats him consolingly.

“Jesus, you really _are_ as big as I remembered.”

Chas puts his hands over his face, which would be a convincing display of embarrassment if John hadn’t overheard more than a little of Chas’ dirty talking over the years.

And Chas obligingly lifts his hips and drops his hands when John tugs on his waistband.

He hands John a bottle, too, which is smart of him.

Pushing at Chas until he flops onto his back, John snuggles close enough to lay his head on Chas’ chest. He’s still dragging, and part of him wishes he weren’t so tired- this should be a big deal, a heart-pounding fuck to seal Chas’ devotion to him. A sodding handjob with Chas’ boxers still hanging around one ankle doesn’t come close.

But Chas is putting his arm around John and hugging him close, and when John touches him with slick fingers, the sound Chas makes is relieved.

John cranes his neck for a kiss, stretching to keep his hand in place and reach Chas; Chas meets him midway. The kiss is messy, Chas too wound up to kiss properly, and John resolves to be the last person to know the noise Chas makes when John breaks away to kiss his neck.

Kissing Chas’ neck is tricky because John wants to see what he’s doing, and John is considering switching it up when Chas twists under him and groans, sharp and almost pained.

John looks down, and despite knowing what he’d see, the sight of Chas’ belly striped with come still makes his brain stutter.

“Did you-”

“Don’t.”

“Chas.”

“No.”

_“Chas.”_

“What!”

John lays his hand on Chas’ belly. “Normally, I’d offer to clean you up and maybe we’d get in another round, but since you were a prick earlier, you can clean us up yourself.”

Chas sighs but slowly swings himself to his feet. He wobbles a little, but he makes it to the lav without falling.

John watches him go, pleased Chas’ attempt to beat John at his own game backfired so well. Of course Chas is going to clean them up. And of course John is going to enjoy the sight of Chas walking around naked.

When he comes back, Chas is clean and armed with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans John up gently and brushes a kiss to John’s belly when he finishes.

The cloth gets flung into the lav where it lands with a wet splat.

John raises his brows.

Chas hops under the covers, which he unceremoniously yanks out from under John. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” he explains.

Wriggling close, John lays his head back on Chas’ chest, and Chas tugs the covers up over him before curling his arm around John once more.

“John.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave this time.”

John nods, rubbing his nose on Chas’ chest. “Gotta see if you can still keep up, haven’t I?”

Chas huffs but doesn’t argue. He just pulls John’s a little closer and lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Without meaning to, John echoes him. He hasn’t been this comfortable in a long time; it’s strange but not unwelcome. He wouldn’t mind getting used to it.

From the steady beat of Chas’ heart, John isn’t the only one.


End file.
